Our Chaotic Concerto
by bandcrazy01
Summary: I had not done anything other than be his audience. One-shot. Rated T for a little bit of foul language.


At first, it was simply amusing. Like walking in and stumbling upon a solo saxophonist thrumming his sad story out of the shiny metal. Out of mere curiosity, I pulled up a chair to listen to a couple of notes. He hadn't even noticed me there.

Then came my suggestions, interested to see how easy it would be to pull him more towards my taste in music. He had been startled to discover he had an audience. This musician was more accustomed to play alone, or allow a few select people to hear. He hadn't been very pleased to have his personal space invaded by something he'd consider evil.

It took a little more persuasion on my part before he sat back down on the rickety wooden chair he had been on. He listened, and considered. The mouthpiece in it's proper place, the notes thrummed out once more. The original tune, but borrowing bits and pieces of my thoughts.

An entertained smile of admiration for the man graces my face. He's desperate for hope, wanting out of the sad string of notes he's been stuck playing for years. My vocalized offering is enough to make the blues a little more upbeat.

This only lasted a short minute. Suddenly he has a change of heart on my opinions. He'd rather play on his own, despite how cruel the world has been. It took even shorter of a time lapse for him to realize he's stuck in this room, and I have no intention of leaving.

"Sit back down, kid. You sounded great with the more upbeat tone." I gesture to the chair he left again.

He sees me as a threat now. A force that can rob him of everything if he decides to continue listening to my criticism. However, I need that music to keep playing. I threaten to rip the instrument from his hands. That's enough to get him to hesitantly sit back down.

It's hesitant, the look in his brown eyes want to challenge. The tune continues from it's pause, but it's loud, and he intentionally makes a few squeaks in an attempt to ruin it. I just grin, because the music is still flowing and no one outside is the wiser.

He did his best to ruin the song, but it had done nothing but almost kill him. I just chuckled upon leaving the man on the floor, a death grip on the glinting metal. I had no intention of dealing with him, believing our business was finalized and I would not hear this man's sad song reverberating through the halls.

Things had not gone smoothly for me upon leaving his room. After the fighting passed, and the Kane Children won, I was then left to obey the girl's orders in complete silence in my own room. The walls are splotched in chunks of dried red paint I have thrown against it in boredom. Furniture is haphazardly overturned in bouts of rage, never to be fixed unless it's against my own convenience.

So I sit on the abused metal chair, staring at the paint on the walls and reflect on the stories behind each and every single mess. And I grin, because it's interesting and has become what I am. More dents and splinters will come in the future, and I look forward to it.

A quiet knock raps on the door, breaking through the deafening quiet of the room. I stare at it, imagining who could be on the other side of it. I then scowl as I consider it being a family member that has already casted me aside, or even the Kane girl who wields the ironclad leash. My right-hand clenches into a fist as I feast on the rage I've grown accustomed to.

It comes again, a little louder this time. I roll my eyes and finally stand. They won't leave, so I might as well open the door. It could be entertaining, but there's a higher chance I'll be annoyed instead.

I'm speechless upon seeing the musician standing before me. He's bandaged up, and perhaps might be still too injured to even consider walking out of his nice room. _How did he even find my room?_ I would vocalize such, but that gaze is foreign confidence.

"You're right," he speaks first. "If I want change, I need to do it myself."

As if he had taken notes, Amos had forced his way into the room. He hadn't paused to take in the mess of it all, let alone complain about how his was nicer. Instead he found a practically dented beyond repair metal chair, straightened out one of the legs to make it barely useable. Then sat down as I closed the door upon realizing he has no real intention to leave.

I point out the walls, and the purposely placed carnage of furniture. I'm wondering if he had gone blind after our last encounter, so I make sure he is aware of the mess. He just rolls his eyes and pulls his saxophone out of it's case.

The notes start off from where we had last left off, but the confidence inside the man makes it far more upbeat than it had been. At first, I felt cautious, ever curious as to why he would worm his way here despite everything. He recognizes this, but doesn't change the song more than he already has. It's the same basic tune, but a far more aspiring sound.

It takes a moment before the music takes hold, and I've found myself sitting back on the metal chair I had been on. Watching the saxophonist improv newer notes than he has been used to, making sure I'm experiencing it with him. How would I know this was how he would change me as well?

The surge of confidence had apparently stemmed from his impressive nephew and niece, and wanting to do whatever he can to help. Does he not understand? Family is just another word for backstabbers that believe you should still be loyal to them because they are blood.

He just brushes it off, instead wanting to know the stories behind the red paint splattered against the walls. Instead of judging upon my review of them, he goes about highlighting the perimeters of them with blue paint. At first I consider it ridiculous, but in the end I realize it brought them out even more. Something so silly, but I caught myself appreciating the effort by the man accompanying me in the small space.

The Lord of Evil smiles greedily as his eyes set upon the First Nome of the House of Life. He knows this, and the rumors being hastily whispered around him know this. There's hope that the Arabic teenager can fix the Lord of Order, though she is obviously stressed out by the idea. She is not eased discovering his following of my path, but he waves her concerns away.

The Chief Lector is terrified. What if that devilish snake swallows the sun? He couldn't care less what anyone thinks of him, people will hate you no matter what you do. His intentions are pure in his eyes, and that _is_ all that matters. The same confident song keeps playing, and I'm supporting it by tapping with my hands against my thighs.

Working together helped give time. Though the enemy tried to use him as a hostage to keep the children of New York away. In the end, we won that small victory, and the spoils immediately went to Carter Kane, despite my anger on the matter. Amos Kane has simply brushed my rage away, wanting to focus on the main fight instead.

I shut up and continue to lend him my assistance. After all, the snake needs to be shown his place. We can't very well let him destroy the world; destroy the room we have shared for a few months now. It's been lifetimes since anyone has made themselves comfortable, and the notes soaring into the space is a pleasant change.

The notes changed upon the defeat of Apophis. The confidence is still there, despite being rather nervous of being the first Chief Lector under the new Pharaoh. It's bolder, and louder, and a little more swing to it than previously. He's showing off his hosting of me now, not giving two fucks what others think. A new movement to a new age, how fitting.

I couldn't help but be amazed at the musician sitting across from me. How easily he had changed himself, but his thanks is misplaced for motivating him. I had not done anything other than be his audience.

Like all concertos, they eventually have to end. I wish for a gracefully beautiful end to this song, but I know deep down I would rather keep the saxophonist with me than let him go. How stupid am I?

The cowards, they knew they couldn't physically fight him with me in the background. Poison was the name of the game, and I swear I will hurt them for it. He had been feeling ill a few hours after, but was swiftly reduced to a curled-up mess of vomit and sweat.

He's scared, to the point of tears. It hurts to see him like this, and I feel guilt as I wrap my arms around him, telling him he'll be fine. The healers are stumped as they're trying to relieve him of the pain. Hours pass of this before the song suddenly fades out.

It shouldn't have been as long as it took me to process the silence. The musician is gone, along with the entertained glint in his eyes and the laugh that could fill my heart with something I hadn't felt in lifetimes. All that is left is the metal instrument laying flat on the abused metal chair, _his chair_.

I remember what it's like to hurt again. Tears roll down my face as my throat closes up, probably the only reason I haven't screamed in the rage wanting to burst out of me. He hadn't gotten up and left the room, despite me urging him to do so. Instead he had been ripped away, and I realize this is more painful than watching Nephthys close the door behind her.

He should have died of old age. He should have shown the love and kindness he has to potential grand-nephews/nieces. Watch his nephew, _he was so fucking proud of him_, finally sit upon the throne when he felt ready. There was so much more potential to that song he chose to share with me, and some greedy asshole took it all away.

All that is left is the memory of the song, the tool to help let it out, and the damn blue paint highlighting all of the red on the walls. He hadn't been more invasive than that, not demanding I clean up the mess of furniture that had rested behind him. Not insisting I redo the walls, as if he knew I was proud of it.

My anger quickly took hold, and all I could see was red. When it stopped, I was crying in the middle of the ruins. It had not been long for an outside response, the Kane Children once again.

Horus' Eye is furious upon approach, demanding answers I'm too numb to care to listen to. Accusations fly, killing everyone within the First Nome. I tense as he mentions his uncle. Anger screams within me to protest that, set the record straight. Again, I'm too numb from all of the emotions I've already poured out, so I decide to hatefully take the blame.

He threatens to fight me, and I just smirk at the child before me. "Go ahead, the silence is already killing me, Pharaoh."


End file.
